


Ritual

by neonunau



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: 1970s, Alternate Universe - College/University, Cults, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29773335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonunau/pseuds/neonunau
Summary: It’s the fall of 1974, the top artist on the charts is Eric Clapton, and you are in love with a boy that doesn’t know you exist. After being drawn in to his world of free love and free minds, you’re beginning to wish that that was still the truth. That his eyes and his hands never found you. You wish that none of this had ever happened.
Relationships: Lee Taeyong/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Ritual

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted to neonun-au.tumblr.com

The autumn wind blows with a bitterness you haven't felt since leaving your home for the city. Cold air seeps through the fabric of your clothing and nips at the bare skin underneath. You hold your textbook tighter to your chest and rush across campus towards your next lecture. Classes had resumed this past week for your second year of university and you couldn’t be more grateful for the distraction from the crushing weight of loneliness that had become an overwhelming part of your life over the summer. 

Your first year of school was a whirlwind of lectures and classes; barely giving you time to breathe, let alone think about how the only people you ever interacted with, aside from the weekly phone call home, were your dour professors. The loneliness hit you like a train as soon as the final exam had ended and you realized you had nowhere to go. No one to celebrate with. The cold was bitter, but the isolation was like a poison—creeping its way into your life and constricting itself in a vice grip around your heart. 

Money and the lack of transportation made it hard to go back home for the three month break, and you regretted choosing a school so far from your family and everything you once knew. Everything familiar and warm. So you contented yourself with buying one dollar paperbacks at the grocery store and reading them under the summer sun while watching the other students. A voyeur of happiness living vicariously through the laughter of others more outgoing--others more fortunate. 

Your mother did always say your shyness would be the death of you. 

There was one face that became as familiar to you as your own over your three months of silent observation. A face carved of marble by the gods themselves. His smooth skin stretched taut over a strong jaw. Kind eyes and a kinder smile lit up his face with joy as he sat and talked with his circle of friends—every time he laughed you could swear the sun shone only on him. 

You didn’t know his name, but you imagined how it would feel—how it would taste—as it rolled off your tongue in the midnight hours. How his hands and lips might feel grazing across your own skin. The daydreams were potent and heady and you felt drunk with infatuation. Intoxicated with unrequited love, but resigned to never having your desires fulfilled. He was so bright and vibrant and alive with the kiss of the summer, meanwhile you sat under the shade of an oak tree darkened by the haze of loneliness, kissed only by the ants crawling up your bare legs. 

The gap between you was too wide--too gaping. He hadn’t noticed you yet and you felt that it was entirely likely he never would. So you lost yourself in your paperback romances and continued to dream instead.

As summer dragged on and your days melted into each other, you started to notice the boy coming around campus less and less. You worried he might have dropped out and moved back home like so many others, or maybe he had fallen in love and run off to start his new life. The absence made your imagination run wild with the threat of possibility. 

The warmth of the lecture hall embraces you and you hurry to find a seat near the back of the room—far away from the wandering eyes of the other students milling about the class, chatting and gossiping in the absence of the professor. Taking your seat, you allow your eyes to roam over your classmates, noting the mix of people currently surrounding you decked out in a wash of earth tones and blue jeans. 

“Taeyong!” One of the students yells out, a pretty girl about your age with a bright, wide smile. She waves someone over from the doorway and your eyes follow her line of sight. You feel your heart drop to your stomach as you see the boy you’ve been missing the past few weeks standing like a mirage in the desert. 

‘So that’s his name…’ you think to yourself, mouthing the revelation in silence. 

His dyed blonde hair is wild with the force of the September wind, longer than the last time you saw him sitting in the grass on the campus quad. He smiles brightly in response and weaves his way through the desks towards the girl. You hadn’t seen her before hanging around his usual group of friends over the summer months and you can feel your heart pounding against your ribcage as your manic daydreams of him entangled in another girls’ arms resurface and cloud your vision. 

Feeling the heat of your stare on the back of her head, she turns around and offers you a small smile. Embarrassment washing over you in a wave at being caught; you bow your head towards your textbook and stare intently down at the swirling letters before you until the professor strolls in and begins his first lecture of the semester. 

The library had become your second home during your first year away at school. Thousands upon thousands of books were housed on endless rows in the old building—with a little digging you could find a reference for anything. And in the centre of it all sat the reason you had chosen this school in the first place—the reason you were so far away from home for the first time—a cluster of TRS-80 computers. Your parents never understood your fascination with the new technology, or why you had chosen computer science as your degree, but you knew it was the way of the future. Every stroke of the key, every thought translated to the screen, felt like progress unfolding before your very eyes. 

The only thing that rivalled your enamour for computers was Taeyong. 

Casting aside the rising yearning in your heart, you find a spot by one of the large windows, tucked behind a shelf of weathered calculus reference books that had begun gathering dust, and pull out a novel from your brown canvas satchel—ready to lose yourself in another world. 

The hours drag on as you sit buried in your copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, the light from the autumn sun dimming to a hazy glow outside, and you hardly notice as a small group of people come to take a seat next to you. You fail to also notice their intense stares as they watch you flip through page after page—engrossed in the narrative unfolding in front of you. After some time the feeling of being watching prickles under your skin and you raise your eyes from the book to see the same girl from your lecture earlier smiling over at you. 

Her smile is even more dazzling up close—bright and welcoming and filled with a genuine warmth that makes your heart ache for home. Her long brown hair falls in waves around her slight shoulders and you wonder at how it manages to look so effortlessly beautiful.

A boy with dark hair and even darker eyes sits next to her, stone-faced, head tilted as he examines the cover of your novel. You set it down face-first on the carpet next to you and glance at them sheepishly. 

“Hi,” the girl offers, smile unwavering. 

“H-hello,” you choke out your response, voice hoarse from disuse. 

“I’m Dahyun, from your computer sciences lecture this morning. You’re _____, right?” 

You nod reflexively. The shock that the knowledge of your name has somehow made it to her ears is painted plainly on your face and she laughs at the sight. 

“We’ve been watching you,” she continues, gesturing to the silent boy next to her. “Me and Doyoung.” 

Silence shrouds the air around your isolated corner of the library after she speaks, a moment of suffocating quiet before you realize she is waiting for you to say something. “W-why?” you ask, twisting the hem of your knitted cardigan around your fingers. 

“Do you ever get the feeling like you’ve known someone your whole life? Like your soul is connected to them somehow? For some reason, when I look at you I see myself,” her words strike a chord in your heart and it’s all you can do to keep the tears from welling up in your eyes. You don’t know why she’s saying this but you desperately want to believe her. You want to believe that there is some string of fate connecting you to this bright spark of a girl. 

Connecting you to something greater than your own, lonely world. 

Dahyun notices the shift in your emotions and reaches out to take your hand in her own, eyes gentle and kind. “There’s a party this Friday, I would love it if you would come,” she looks at you in anticipation, squeezing your hand reassuringly as you hesitate a moment. “I just know you will fit in so well with us there. With me and all the others, I think you know a few of them already,” she winks and the image of Taeyong is conjured up in your mind once more. 

“Okay,” you agree after a pause. “Why not?” You try and sound casual, unaffected, but the affectation falls short and you notice Doyoung smirking as he gets up and walks out of the library without a word. 

Dahyun turns to you before following him out, “he’s a little strange at first, but he’s a total sweetheart once you get to know him.” She assures you with another squeeze of her hand before the warmth leaves you and she rushes out of the library after him. 

The rest of the week passes by in a haze of pink and yellow. Anticipation for Friday swells up in your stomach and carries you along in a tidal wave of happiness you haven’t felt since moving out to university. You notice Dahyun’s presence in every single one of your classes and marvel with her over the similarities of your schedule, happily taking the seat next to hers in the centre of the lecture halls instead of hiding yourself away near the back of the room. You keep your eyes peeled for any signs of Taeyong, hoping against hope that he will grace your lectures with his presence and you might finally get to formally meet him, but you see no further sign of him on campus at all. 

Hope still weaves its way through your body as you think forward to the party and the possibility of his being there.

Friday evening arrives and you find yourself pacing the floor of your cramped dorm room, agonizing over what to wear. A pile of discarded jeans and cast-off sweaters litter the floor around you as you sit on the edge of your bed with your head in your hands wondering if it’s too late to feign illness and just sleep instead. The previous cloud of excitement you had been floating on throughout the week had been blinked out of existence in a wash of anxiety. 

A car horn sounds outside the entrance to your dorm and you hastily slip into a striped tank top and jean jacket before racing out of your room and sliding into the backseat of Doyoung’s old sky blue Buick. 

The small city passes by out the windows as you drive off campus and you realize just how little of your new home you have explored. Outside of the familiar brick and stone of the university, nothing looks familiar to you at all. You stare out at the town bathed in the fading light of the evening with a sense of awe as Doyoung and Dahyun chat happily in the front seat of the car. 

Dahyun calls your name, pulling your attention away from the passing scenery and towards her. “We just have to pick up one more person then we’re going to head out to the farm.” 

“The farm?” You ask, eyebrow cocked upward in curiosity. You had assumed the part would be at someone's dorm or maybe even a fraternity house inside the city. 

“Yeah! It’s where we all hang out on the weekends,” she answers with a warm smile, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. 

“Most weekdays now, too.” Doyoung chimes in, breaking his silence, but offering you a similar smile as Dahyun that casts his appearance in a much warmer light than his typical cold stoicism.

Dahyun nods with enthusiasm, excitement beaming through her eyes as she continues, “everyone is so excited you’re coming, too, you’re going to love it. The people, the music, the energy is just unlike anything else. The more time I spend at The Farm with our little family, the less the outside world even feels like a real place.” 

A question bites at the tip of your tongue, yearning to be asked--yearning for an answer.  _ ‘Why me? Why are they excited about...me?’  _ but you swallow it down. The fear that they will realise, that Dahyun will see past this kindly shroud of blindness that has overtaken her, and notice that you’re just a fraud. You’re nothing special, and you definitely don’t deserve everything she is talking about. 

But by god do you want it. 

Gravel crunches under the tires of the old car as it pulls to a stop outside a large suburban home. The large bay windows are illuminated from within, casting a warm, amber glow over the neatly manicured lawn and garden splayed out in front of you. A few shadowy figures pass by through the windows and you gawk up at the large colonial build, wondering at who might be inside. Doyoung lays on the horn for a moment, shattering the silence of your wonder, and the front door swings open.

His body is cast in the shadows of dusk, but you would recognize his figure even in the darkest of nights. Taeyong strides out of the house and towards the car with a bright grin, waving towards Dahyun and Doyoung in greeting before opening the door and climbing in the backseat next to you. The warmth of his hand as it comes to rest next to yours on the seat stops your heart in your chest and it takes a moment for you to register his greeting. 

“Hey, we have a few coding classes together, right? I’m Taeyong,” he smiles and extends his hand for you to shake. 

You manage a weak grip on his hand before dropping it back onto the worn brown leather and stuttering out your name past the lump of nerves coiled in your throat. By some small miracle, he takes no notice of your inept greeting--widening his smile in response before leaning forward to ask Doyoung a question.

You sink back into the seat in a haze of self-inflicted embarrassment, watching the back of his head as he bobs along with the music filtering out through the radio. Doyoung laughs, the first you've seen from him, and you feel entirely out of place in the car with them--like an intruder in a home you were invited into. Welcome, but not a part of it. An outsider. 

Taeyong settles back into the leather, still nodding along to the song on the radio. From the corner of your eye you watch his profile shift and change in the headlights of the other cars on the road as they pass by. You get lost in the dance of shadow across his features--the sharp jaw softening in one moment only to come back into focus the next, his brown eyes lighting and darkening as each vehicle speeds by. 

"Are you from here?" He asks suddenly, startling you out of your study of his features.

You turn towards him, not quite meeting his gaze, and shake your head, "no, my family lives a few hours north of here." 

"Mine too," he grins, shifting in his seat to face you fully. "Maybe we're from the same place." 

"I don't think so," offering him a shy smile you bite back the part of you that wants to laugh at the idea. The idea that he has existed near you at any time beyond this moment. You think back to your hometown--to the small businesses dotting the streets, the cafe you would frequent to do your homework after school with your friends, the rows of bicycles stacked up at the high school. You try to imagine Taeyong there, shining in the sun of your memory, but draw a blank. He’s a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit. Part of an entirely different puzzle altogether. 

"Why not?" He asks, shrugging, genuine curiosity shining in his eyes, “anything is possible.” 

"I would remember you," the honesty of your own answer surprises you and you’re glad for the darkness inside the car as it hides the embarrassed grimace pulling down the corners of your mouth. 

He just smiles again; that same genuine smile that you fell for over those months of summer heat shining its rays on you. It smoothes your expression with its softness and you relax--loosening some of the built up tension that had been holding your body rigid in your seat. “Maybe you’re right,” he nods, “I would have remembered you, too.” 

The rest of the drive is spent in a mostly comfortable silence in the backseat, while the denizens of the front bicker over the merits of each song that plays through the speakers--only ever coming to an agreement when Eric Clapton comes on. Taeyong laughs at the antics, and you continue to relax further in his presence; letting down some of the defenses that you didn’t even know had been thrust up. A fortress built unconsciously around yourself. You continue to watch him out of the corner of your eye, catching the way he smiles to himself, or smiles at you, every now and then, and you think that maybe you could let them slip even further. Just for him. 

Doyoung leaves the main highway after a while, taking a turn down a long, narrow gravel access road towards what you can only assume is the farm that they’ve been talking about. Nervous anticipation bubbles up in your stomach as you brace yourself against the effects of the unpaved road. The car hits a deep pothole and you crash unceremoniously into Taeyong, feeling the white hot embarrassment of the sudden closeness rage through you even as he laughs it off and helps steady you. 

Finally, after what feels like an hour spent driving over the rough road, you see the lights of the farm in the distance--twinkling through the sparse trees like a beacon in the dark. Doyoung pulls to a stop alongside a row of other old, beat up vehicles and you clamber out of the backseat eager to stretch the kinks out of your legs. 

“Here we are,” Dahyun says brightly, looping her arm through yours and leading you away from the car. “Sorry we got here a little late it looks like everyone else has got a good head start on us.” You walk with her towards a group of twenty to thirty people all dancing to music and drinking around a raging bonfire. The warmth of it hits your face as you step closer and you look around at the faces illuminated in the light of the flames. 

A few people you recognize from campus. Guys in jean jackets who were always sitting on the grass, never seeming to make their way to any classes regardless of the time of day. Girls in long, flowing skirts twirling around the fire who usually sat near the back of lecture halls staring blankly ahead or passing notes to each other; giggling under their breath like they held the secrets of the universe in the palms of their hands. 

The others were entirely foreign to you. Twenty-somethings with part-time jobs around town, or with no jobs whose main purpose in life was to simply exist as they saw fit. Thirty-somethings with semi-vacant expressions, already half-cut in the purple haze of beer and drugs. 

Misfits is the word that first comes to mind as you look around while Dahyun offers you a bottle of beer. People with no strong tether to society, nowhere to belong. Outsiders who have found themselves only amongst each other--stitching together their own frayed sweaters of existence into a mismatched tapestry. The longer you watch them dance and talk with each other, the more they seem to fit.

Dahyun pulls you into a conversation with a few girls who also turned out to be in a few of your coding classes and you introduce yourself, emboldened by the slight tingle of alcohol burning through your throat and the camaraderie that exists as ephemeral in this space. 

The night wears on in beer after beer until the edges of your vision are blurred with the effects if it. Doyoung and Taeyong has disappeared some time after arriving and the thought of where they might be is cradled in the back of your mind even as you laugh and dance with a girl called Moon Unit--a name she proudly tells you she had chosen after a long night of sleeping under the stars on the side of a road after running away from home at fourteen.

Minutes bleed into hours and finally they reappear at the edge of the group, flanking an older man who you hadn’t seen at all during the first half of the night. He stands tall and proud, shoulders thrust back in the manner of someone with authority and purpose. His long black hair is slicked into a low ponytail and you watch him with curiosity. You watch as Taeyong defers to him, as Doyoung looks somehow diminished at his side--his usual stone-faced expression taking on an almost sheepish quality next to the man. 

People in the group begin to notice his presence and you watch as they walk towards him, one by one, and kiss his knuckles in greeting. A parade of sheep to the shepherd. 

The party continues around you despite this bizarre occurrence and as Dahyun follows suit, tugging you along with her towards the man, you realize this must happen regularly for them. That it is only bizarre to you by nature of it being your first time here. 

The man smiles as you approach, face cast in the orange glow of the bonfire, and you glance at Taeyong. His gaze is fixed on you, brown eyes burning in the heat of the flames, and he nods in greeting as Dahyun pulls you to a stop in front of the three of them.

"Joe," she says, voice carrying a reverence you haven't heard since your days as a child sitting in church services with your grandmother. It calls your attention from Taeyong and you look at him once more in curiosity as she plants a quick kiss on his hand. 

His features up close come together in a standard formation. Under any other circumstances--in a grocery store, at a football game--you would never have taken notice of him. But something in his deep, dark brown eyes pulls you in. A fire burning inside of them matching the strength of the bonfire behind you. 

"And who is this?" He asks, catching your gaze as you stare openly at him. The presence of alcohol in your veins has emboldened you to a point where you hardly even care. Your usual shyness has slipped away like chalk from the sidewalk on a rainy day.

Dahyun answers for you, nudging you with her elbow as she speaks, "this is my friend _____." 

He smiles at you, extending his hand for you to take. A brief bubble of panic forms in your throat,  _ 'am I supposed to kiss him?' _ He must see the thoughts written across your face because when you reach out to take his hand he just smiles and gives yours a gentle, firm shake. 

"Pleasure to meet you," he says, patting the top of your hand with his before releasing it. Doyoung audibly snorts at the exchange, amused by the confusion swimming in your eyes. "Tell me, _____, are you in university with the others?" 

You nod in the affirmative and Dahyun offers an elaboration, "we have classes together." 

"Why are you in university?" The question catches you off guard, and you hesitate a moment--watching his expression for any hint of humour but he remains stone-faced, waiting for your response. 

The list of reasons rolls through your mind and you try to reach for one, any one, that might appease him--surprised at the internal desire to offer an answer that will garner you some sense of acceptance from this man whom you have never met before. 

You think about your major, computer science, and all the reasons you enjoy it. All the reasons you chose it in the first place, but they seem almost pointless now under his intent stare. "I don't know," you mumble the answer, suddenly shy despite the buzz still flowing through your veins. 

"That's too bad," he says, and you feel as though you've disappointed him. A small knife of guilt twisting in your gut. Dahyun pulls you away and you stumble after her back to the fire all while wishing you could relive the last five minutes. Wishing you could have given him the answer he was searching for. 

The evening drags on and slowly the group of partygoers dwindles down--people drop off here and there, climbing into their run-down pick up trucks and peeling off into the night. 

You're left sitting in the grass off to the side of the dwindling fire, watching as Dahyun is caught in a passionate conversation with one of the last remaining misfits about the merits of organic produce. The sense of belonging you had felt when you arrived had dwindled after your encounter with the man called Joe. Sitting alone now, you felt just as much of an outsider as you had sitting alone in the library reading your copy of Ken Kesey. 

"Hey," a voice calls out from behind you and you twist around to see Taeyong smiling down in your direction. Your heart is a fluttering bird in your chest as he sits down in the grass next to you, and you try to maintain your composure. 

"Hi."

"Having fun?" 

"I am," you nod, perhaps too fervently, and he laughs into the darkness, wrapping his arms around his knees. 

"It's a lot, hey?" He asks, turning his face to you with a knowing smile. "I get it, I was just as nervous about it the first time I got out here."

"Really?" He nods, and you tug at a thread of bravery to follow your curiosity, "what changed?"

"Ah," he leans back on his hands, stretching his legs out over the ground and you follow the line of his body up towards his face. "Honestly?" He seems to be waiting for your approval to continue so you nod, "I met Doyoung."

"Doyoung?" You glance over to where the dark haired boy stands, wreathed in the light of the flames as he talks casually with Dahyun and Joe. He looks more relaxed than you had seen him so far but still you can't shake your initial impression of him. Of his dark eyes and tight-lipped glare. You can't imagine him being the person to help Taeyong, to welcome him into this strange group of people.

"Doyoung's a good guy," he says, answering your unspoken question as if reading your thoughts, "he's just sort of standoffish at first."

"How did you meet?"

"Class last year," he explains, "he invited me out here and introduced me to everyone. University can be so lonely, leaving everything you knew for something so unknown." The wistfulness in his tone sinks into you. The feeling that maybe he understands--maybe he knows exactly what you've been feeling all along--emerges and you hope that it's the truth.

"It is lonely," you agree, leaning into the vulnerability instead of away from it. Already tonight you've transformed into someone you hardly recognize. Taking these small steps and actions that you never would have imagined you could. it makes you wonder what you might be capable of if you spent more time around them. 

Around him.

"I think we all need that person that sort of pulls us out of our own world, gives us somewhere else to belong."

"Yeah," you nod, staring into the bonfire as it crackles and burns in front of you. You can feel the faint heat of it on your face, joining with the heat of Taeyongs gaze. 

"Oh," he says suddenly, perking up out of his quiet reverie. "Here." He holds out what looks like a small square of paper towards you, adorned with an intricate design that you can hardly make out in the dark of the night. 

"What's this?" 

He laughs lightly at your confusion and moves a bit closer to your side. You can feel the warmth of him against you and it makes you shiver in spite of yourself. "LSD," he says, "stick out your tongue."

"Drugs?" The hesitation in your tone is palpable and he retreats, pulling away and you regret your tone immediately. Regret the loss of his warmth from your side. 

"You've never done it before?"

"No," the word rolls off your tongue slowly, as if you weren't sure if it. You were sure you hadn't ever taken acid before--what you weren't sure if was whether or not you should tell Taeyong that. Whether it might cause him to pull back even further. 

"Ah, I'm sorry I just--" he leans back, retracting his hand. "If you're not comfortable with it, we can find someone to take you home.” 

“No,” you blurt out the word in a panic before you can think. The fear of having to leave overtakes any sense of self preservation that otherwise hangs on by a wire inside you and you sprang to attention, trying desperately to scramble back to that place where you had been before this. “No, I’m not uncomfortable with it I just--” 

“Nervous?” 

“Yeah,” you swallow past the dryness in your throat, hoping he doesn’t see just how nervous under the cover of the night sky. 

“Don’t be,” he smiles, leaning back towards you, “I’m right here.” Your heart swells with a fool’s hope at the words and you nod, bracing yourself for whatever was about to come. His eyes are soft, reassuring, and you think that no matter what, as long as he’s here, you’re prepared for anything. 

“Stick out your tongue,” he instructs, and you do. You watch as he leans forward, eyes fixed on yours as he places the small square of paper into your mouth--soft, reassuring smile never leaving your face. “Good,” he nods, “now just let it dissolve in your mouth.” 

Taeyong grabs a blanket from the house, an old, beaten throw adorned with a faded floral print, and spreads it out on the grass and dirt before the fire. A few shipping pallets had been thrown onto the flames and it was now swelling with an intense heat you could feel even on your back. You lean back on the blanket in silence next to Taeyong, grateful that he has decided to stick near you for the time being and keep you company as Dahyun had disappeared some time ago without a word. 

You stare up at the stars and begin to feel your edges disintegrate. It comes on slowly, a ripple of tingles throughout the body that makes you feel at once both dizzied and enchanted by it, and then all at once you melt into the stars. They dance overhead with an intensity you have never seen before--denizens of the sky in a waltz of light and fire. 

Your mom had always warned you of the dangers of drugs. Horror stories at home and in school told by well-meaning adults to prevent any impressionable teens from dipping into this world that claims so many in death and addiction. You don’t doubt them. You’re sure those horror stories are real, that they do happen more often than not; but sitting under the open night sky next to the boy you had been dreaming about for months and watching the stars in their cosmic routes above you--it’s hard to imagine any of what they had told you. It seems more that their own fears and preconceived notions are preventing them from experiencing the sheer wonder that now courses through your mind. 

You’re not sure how long you sit there in silence--it could have been a minute, it could have been an hour, or it could have been three weeks. Time seems at once ever-present and entirely meaningless as you lose yourself in the tapestry of the night. 

“How do you feel?” Taeyong asks, pulling your attention back to him. He’s sitting next to you still, that same gentle smile quirking up the corners of his mouth, and you wonder how it is in all of those months of observing him that you never noticed how he held those same stars in his eyes. How the dark browns swirled and danced in a cosmic pattern. 

“I feel like I’m melting,” you reply after a quick search for the right word to encapsulate your feelings. 

He laughs and you think it sounds like the best thing you’ve ever heard. Better than motown, better than Hendrix. Better than the best guitar riff in any Led Zeppelin song. It’s like music, but it moves through you like air. You want to lean forward and kiss him--absorb the laughter into yourself--but some lingering insecurity holds you back. “That’s normal,” he nods, “it’s how it should be.” 

“What do you mean?” You shift your gaze from his lips to his eyes, and watch as he finds the words to explain himself. 

“It’s all connected,” he says finally, sitting up in a cross-legged position and twisting to face you. “We’re all connected, but we do things that go against that. We pretend that we’re not. But we are.” 

Suddenly the notion of his eyes holding the stars doesn’t feel as ridiculous to you. 

“Connected?” 

“Yeah like,” he glances around for a moment, searching, before reaching forward and taking your hands in his. He holds them up in the air, entwining your fingers, and you feel a heat pool through you as you watch in silent rapture. “Do you see how they fit? It’s like a puzzle, like they were always meant to be held together like this,” his eyes are wide, aglow in the light of the flames and the stars. “But we have built little homes of fear around us, too afraid to feel it. Too afraid to see the truth.”

“And what is the truth?” You ask, breathless. 

“That we’re all one. The stars, the sea, the earth below us, you and me. We’re all the same. You hold the ocean in your hands. You’re made of stardust,” he lets go of one of your hands, leaning forward to brush a gentle line down your cheek, awe glimmering through his expression--an expression you’re sure is mirrored on your face. “Your cheeks are the plains of the prairies,” his thumb glides down to meet the corner of your lips, sending a wave of sparks across your skin, “your lips are honey made by bees.” He grazes them with his thumb and you hope he closes the distance--hope he leans forward to taste the sweetness nestled there. You want him to, but instead he pulls back with a shy laugh. 

“Sorry,” he says, “I got a little carried away.” 

“No,” you shake your head, “I think you’re right.” 

“Oh?” 

“I mean, I don’t  _ know _ but I sort of feel it,” you try to form the words that are circling in your head, try to capture them. You want to say something to pull him back towards you--to bring that light of joy and assuredness back into his eyes. “I look at the stars and I see you, and I look at you and I see the stars. Like you’re the same.” 

“You get it,” he says, grinning--sending your heart reeling again in a flurry of happy emotions. “It’s something Joe always says,” he nods towards the bearded man on the other side of the fire, standing silent and watching everyone as they sprawl out in front of the fire with each other. “He always said the only reason they try to prevent us using these drugs is to prevent us from finding the truth.” 

“Why?” 

“If we know the truth, we don’t need them anymore.”

“Won’t need who anymore?” 

“Them,” he shrugs, waving his arm around in a vague gesture. “Government, big business, police, authority. If we’re all one, and we take care of each other like that, then there’s no need for anything else. We could live in complete peace. A utopia.” 

“That would be amazing,” you mutter the words, awestruck at the notion. Through wide eyes you watch the man in question as he slowly walks through the group of people surrounding the fire and a seed of curiosity blooms inside your stomach. Who is he? How did he come to these ideas? They can’t truly be the results of this drug alone, there must be some deeper world of thoughts hidden in his mind only to be shared with his closest allies. People who also get it. 

You knew that if your parents heard this conversation, they would think it was nothing more than hippie drivel. That life existed in the spaces where you worked hard to earn your way. That your worth was incumbent upon what you provided to society, and you had entered university with that same notion nestled into your brain from years of absorption. It was the same message you got from teachers at school, from your friends and their parents, from your grandparents. And at the time it seemed perfectly reasonable--just a fact of life, much like birth and death. 

But now you weren’t so sure. How else could you explain the pull you felt towards Taeyong, if it weren’t for that interconnectedness? If you weren’t made of the same matter, the same thread of existence, then why did he feel so much like someone you’ve already known for years? 

Maybe Joe was on to something. Maybe they were just afraid of the truth. Afraid of how all-encompassing it was. 

“Taeyong?” You break your thoughts and turn towards him in question, “who is Joe?” 

He laughs, “what do you mean?” 

“What’s his story? How did he end up here, with all of these...ideas and stuff?” You struggle to form the question. Your thoughts feel too sharp, like knives made of glass in your brain, but blurry at the same time. Ephemeral and impossible to grab hold of for longer than a second for fear of either being cut or of them slipping through your fingers like smoke. You have so much to say, so much to ask--but you settle for the paltry questions. 

“Ah, I know before he came here he was living in a commune playing music,” he leans forward, trying to gather his own thoughts. “He told me once that he went on a vision quest in the desert. That he heard the voice of God and he told him to bring the truth to the world.” 

“And you believe him?” The question isn’t cynical--just open and curious. The bearded man in a faded denim jacket is an enigma to you. Everyone flocks to him as a messiah and you can’t help but wonder at the origins of it. 

He nods with a laugh, “I do. At first I thought it was ridiculous, don’t get me wrong, but now that I’ve sort of...seen the truth for myself? Now that I’ve been here with everyone else for a while? I believe him.” 

“Do you think he can do it?” 

“Yes,” Taeyong whispers, voice reverent as he gazes through the flames towards Joe. “I think he can. With our help.” Silence descends around you again, melting into you as you lean back on the blanket and zone back out into the stars. 

\--

The fall semester drags on in weeks as you find yourself more and more drawn back to the same place each weekend. You stitch together the frayed edges of your loneliness while sitting beside the three of them--laughter filling the air as you trade stories with Taeyong and Dahyun, or sit back and listen as Doyoung rails on about the evils of the world or the seed of government corruption. A small thread of belonging had finally found its way into your life, tying you together with this motley crew. 

The days take on more colour and shade. No longer the bleak grey of loneliness, every corner of your life is lit up in sparks--glowing bright orange with intensity and joy. The colours bloom and grow whenever you see Taeyong. Rather than the feelings abating after finally being in such close proximity to him after so many months of being a simple observer, they’ve done nothing but swell larger in your chest. 

Every smile, every laugh, every hushed whisper feels as if it’s for you and for you alone. You begin to notice, as your shyness slips away over weeks and months of blossoming friendship, that sometimes they  _ are _ for you. Catching him as he stares at you through the heat of the bonfire, feeling his hand rest on the small of your back as you stumble over the rough terrain of the farm on one of your many half-dazed weekend walks. 

The realization comes at first as a shock and then as a novelty. Something you enhance your daydreams on the nights you spend sleeping alone back in your dorm, rather than sprawled out on Dahyun’s floor or in the backseat of someone’s car after a party. 

Concerns from your mother at your sudden change in behaviour are brushed aside with a laugh. She worries, naturally as any parent in these times would, about the influence of these so-called hippies on your life, but she gives in easily when you tell her about them. About Dahyun’s bright smile and brighter laugh, about Doyoung’s sharp wit and intelligence, and about Taeyong as he lives in your mind and in your heart. 

You don’t tell her about Joe. 

Joe, who spends each Friday night standing off to the side of everyone and surveying the group as if they are a herd of wayward sheep he needs to keep watch over. He never speaks to you after that first party, only offering polite nods in your direction when he sees you with Taeyong. A part of you is slightly disappointed at the way he glances over you--never deens to pull you into his inner circle. You want to feel what Taeyong does when he’s around him; the same sense of belonging and being understood. At the same time, though, you remain wary of the man. Perhaps it’s the leftover prejudices of your upbringing still lingering in your veins, creating a barrier that he can sense as well as you, or perhaps it is something more than that. 

The natural questioning of why an older man would want to hang around college aged kids so much, to the point of basically building a commune out on the edge of civilization with them. 

You push the worries aside, afraid of disturbing your new found place amongst your new friends. Afraid that it might sever the tether you finally have to Taeyong and thrust you back into the shadows of observation and shyness. 

Winter sets in to the sleepy college city, bringing with it a bitter cold and preventing you from going out to the farm as often. Bonfires in the snow are much less fun and as it turns out the old house on the property barely has a working furnace. Taeyong laughs about it, calls the whole group a bunch of pioneers--braving the cold with nothing but a weak fire and body heat. 

According to Joe, he tells you, the cold resets the brain chemicals. Paying into the heating companies is just paying for the destruction of your freedom. Despite how ridiculous you find the statement as the temperature drops below freezing, you just shrug it off and shift your focus back to studying for finals. 

Dahyun and Doyoung both float in and out on your study sessions, but Taeyong begins to show more and more. Sitting with you in the library in silence, reading or simply thinking. At first you were surprised to see him back in classes and on campus, but you welcome his presence next to you as it warms you from the inside--even as the bitter winter wind chills you to the bone. 

It's on a particularly windy day, when the threat of snow hangs bitterly in the air, as you're on your way to the library to meet with the three of them that your attention is snagged by the headline of a newspaper. 

HOME INVASIONS ON THE RISE IN TOWN, the headline reads in bold print. A chill--one unrelated to the weather--snakes its way under your skin, raising the hair on the back of your neck. You slip your mittens off and grab one of the papers from the stand, flipping to the article nestled between the pages. 

_ Officials report an increase of home invasions in the area and are recommending everyone to begin locking all their doors and windows before bed to deter potential thieves. _

The article drags on as they normally do, in pleas for public assistance and any tips or information that someone may have. You set the paper back down on the stand and continue your brisk pace towards the library. The chill that had wormed its way under your skin when you first saw the headline sinks deeper, settling in with each step you take and raising the alarms of nervous tension in your mind. 

The warmth of the library hits you in a wave as soon as the door opens. Tucked back in your usual forgotten corner of the building, Dahyun, Doyoung, and Taeyong sit with their heads bowed together--voices low in hushed conversation. Taeyong’s eyes catch yours as you walk towards them and he smiles. The conversation ceases as they all turn to greet you, smiling until they see the unsettled expression on your face. 

“What’s wrong?” Taeyong asks, concern creasing in lines on his forehead. 

Your mind drifts back to the article. You hadn’t been aware you were carrying your worries on your face until now, and you still weren’t entirely sure why the whole thing was bothering you so much. Home invasions, burglaries--these things were commonplace in all cities and towns. So why now? Why this article? 

Doyoung shifts over, offering you the seat beside Taeyong and you take it, hesitating a moment before deciding to just tell them what was on your mind. “Have you seen the news lately?” You start, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. “There’s been a string of home invasions in the area.” 

The three of them share a look, some unspoken message passing between them before Dahyun turns back to you with a laugh, “you read that stuff?” 

“Well, not usually but,” her easy dismissal of your worries makes your head swim with a flood of embarrassment. Maybe it was stupid. 

“All they print is fear mongering nonsense,” she waves her hand, and snaps open her textbook. 

“It seemed like more than that, though.” The quiet of the library, calm and still in the middle of a winter night, makes the knot of fear sitting in your gut feel silly. What did you have to worry about? Here, in your sheltered college life--what did you have to be afraid of? 

“There’s no need to be worried,” Doyoung says, straight faced and logical--answering your unasked questions. “It’s fairly typical of this time of year in the city,” he explains, “people without much money needing to find shelter and food, or things to sell to gain those things. I don’t think you have to worry about them breaking into your dorm, if that’s your concern.” 

“Doyoung’s right,” Taeyong nods, offering you a soft smile. It washes over you like a balm--soothing the knots of your worries as they lay tangled inside of you despite the dismissal. “You’re safe,” he says, leaning in towards you, still with that soft smile gracing his features. You nod and return the smile before pushing away your worries and flipping open your own textbook. 

The study session draws to a close, after hours of cramming for Thursday's final, and you stretch back in your seat. Dahyun and Doyoung had left a half an hour earlier, the former complaining of going blind from all the reading, but Taeyong lingered behind with you--thumbing idly through his notebook while you poured dutifully over your own. The middle aged librarian makes her rounds, shooing out the stragglers before closing up for the night, and you and Taeyong gather up your things and head back out into the cold. 

The night sky hangs overhead in shades of black and blue, stars obscured by a haze of snow and light pollution. Your breath comes out in small puffs of white air and you tighten your coat around you before turning to say goodnight to Taeyong. 

He stands, hands buried in his pockets, and glances at you under hooded eyes with a shy smile, “hey,” he stops you before you can take a step towards your dorm, “do you want me to walk you back home?” 

“Oh, um,” you stammer, surprised at the sudden offer. Months of hanging out with Taeyong--in groups, alone in the library, after class. Months of seeing his sideways glances and wishing for more; wishing he would make some sort of move even while being too shy to do so yourself. It had been months and you had sunk into a sort of stasis of half-expecting that your friendship would only exist as it was--casual, with anything deeper remaining forever unrequited. You had almost given up hoping for more, but now--with this one question--that hope surged anew in your heart. 

“I mean,” he runs a gloved hand through his hair with a small laugh, “I just thought, if you were still worried, you know? I know we’re totally safe but...better safe than sorry, right?” 

“Oh, of course,” you nod, trying not to appear too eager, “I would like that.” 

“Me too,” he smiles, shoving his hand back into his pocket. Silence takes over as you start walking, side by side, through the frost bitten pathways that wind across the campus grounds. Not much is said, not much needs to be said, you just walk in comfortable silence. 

You contemplate slowing your pace, soaking in this moment of just you and him--making it stretch out for as long as you can manage--but the cold wind urges you forward and before you realise you're standing in the doorway of the squat brick building that you call home. 

"Thank you," you turn to Taeyong with a smile, lingering with your keys clutched between your fingers, "for walking me home. I appreciate it." 

He nods, shaking loose a few snowflakes that had come to settle in his hair. The urge to run your fingers through it--to smooth out the rest of the snow and settle the strands back into place--almost overwhelms you as you smile back at him. "It was my pleasure, miss," he jokes, taking a mock bow as you laugh. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah," you nod, heart warming at his continued concern. By now you were mostly convinced that your alarm over the headline earlier was a bit overblown, in light of both Doyoung and Dahyuns reaction when you brought it up, but hearing Taeyong now still addressing it eases your mind further. Having someone like him care about you, you feel like anything could happen and you would be fine. 

You glance back down the empty street, watching the snowflakes drift down in lazy spirals under the light of the streetlamps, before directing your lingering worries towards him, "will you be okay walking back?" 

Taeyong nods, "I'll be fine." He watches as you turn to unlock the door and waits until you're safely in the warmth of the lobby to wave back towards you, "goodnight." 

The glass is cold against your forehead as you lean forward to watch him disappear into the darkness. With a sigh you move to turn around but notice as he pauses, head raised in silent contemplation towards the sky before he doubles back and all but runs towards your building. 

"You're still here," he grins when you open the front door to let him in to the warmth. "I forgot I had something to give you." He pauses a moment, digging through his pockets before handing you a slip of paper with a phone number scrawled across it. “Just in case,” he smiles. 

You clutch the paper in your fingers, chest blooming with happiness, and smile back at him, “thank you.” 

“I, uh,” his laugh comes out shy, nervous, “I might not always be there, but I will do whatever I can. If you need me.” Anticipation flutters in your stomach as you see his hand twitch at his side, a thought passes through his eyes and you watch him hesitate for a moment before he slips his hand back into his pocket and turns to retrace his footsteps back towards his own dorm. You stand in the doorway, watching as he finally disappears down the street then head up towards your room--clutching his number to your chest. 

\--

“Doyoung left,” Dahyun announces, slamming her book down on the table and earning a customary glare from the librarian. 

“What?” It had been weeks since you had last been out to the farm with them. A fact that settled itself uncomfortably in your stomach every time you saw them drive by in Doyoung’s blue Buick. The weather was beginning to warm, shifting to spring as the new semester began, and you weren’t sure what reason they had for not asking you out with them when clearly the weather was not the issue anymore. 

You never brought it up--too nervous to disrupt the status quo--but it made you anxious every time a silence would descend on the small group during study sessions. Everytime Taeyong would smile at you, you would wonder at his motivations. Was it just pity? Did Joe veto you out of the group? 

The hope and excitement you felt those first few months had dwindled back into an anxious nervousness that hummed through your body every time you weren’t with them. Old high school fears of being the outcast, the social pariah, resurfaced in your mind and no matter how much Taeyong, or even Dahyun, made you feel welcome and at home when you were with them, the second they left for the farm without you the insecurities would flood back in. 

“Doyoung left the group,” she sighs, an expression of barely restrained anger clear on her face. Her usually bright, beaming smile washed away by exhaustion. 

“Why?” Your absence from that part of their life, from the farm and everything that happens out there--or doesn’t happen--has left you entirely in the dark in terms of their relationship. You knew Dahyun and Doyoung were close, they had a friendship forged through time and understanding, so the news and her tone hit you by surprise. 

“He doesn’t believe,” she mumbles, hanging her head in her hands. “He thinks we’re going too far but he doesn’t understand,” she speaks rapidly, hushed, as if she’s not even aware she’s speaking at all. You lean over and rest a hand on her shoulder, attempting to soothe her distraught emotions even while her words raise a flag of concern in your mind. A flag of concern written in boldface type spread out over a newspaper. 

She glances up at your touch, eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears, “he doesn’t understand that we have to do it. It’s for the best. For everyone.” 

“What is?” 

Her gaze is unwavering for a moment as she stares at you. You sit transfixed, fear and anxiety gripping your heart as she opens her mouth to answer. A shadow falls over you and Dahyun closes her mouth--turns away and focuses instead on the stack of books in front of her. Taeyong slides into the seat between you, cutting off the conversation with his presence. 

A part of you is relieved now, in his presence. Along with the fact that it’s  _ him _ and you would take any opportunity to be near him, the fear of where the conversation was leading has dissipated slightly with his arrival. The anxiety has shrunk back down to a manageable pill in the pit of your stomach as he smiles at you and leans forward. 

Another part of you, a small whisper in your mind, begs to know more. Begs you to ask Taeyong what he knows--to clarify Dahyun’s ramblings and shed some light on the situation. Not just on Doyoung’s absence, but on why you weren’t as welcome with them anymore. Why all of a sudden you weren’t being asked to come with them on Fridays. The bonfires and the parties had all become such an integral part of your life over the last semester than now slipping back into college life without them you felt hollow. Empty. 

“What were you guys talking about?” Taeyong asks, leaning back in his seat and looking over at Dahyun. She lifts her head slightly, barely meeting his eyes before dropping her gaze once more and mumbling a soft dismissal. 

Not once had you seen Dahyun cowed by anyone in the time you’ve known her. She has always been a bright spark to you. Someone full of life to a point that it was almost blinding. It was her smile and laughter that first pulled you into their orbit. Her willingness to accept you, to offer the hand of friendship when you didn’t think it was even there. Seeing her now, distraught and afraid, sent your thoughts into a maddening spiral. 

"Is it about Doyoung?" He asks and Dahyun nods, head bowed towards the table. Taeyong's face falls into a frown at the sight and he stretches a comforting arm over her shoulders, "I'm worried about him too. But Doyoung's smart. He'll be fine."

"Is there something to be worried about?" You can't help the question as it boils over in your mind and spills out of your mouth. Did he not leave of his own accord? 

Taeyong pulls away from Dahyun and turns to you with a smile, "no. Nothing to worry about, I think he's just stressed over school. Needed to take some time for himself." 

A small, niggling doubt tugs at the threads of your desire to believe him. He smiles at you, eyes warm and sincere, and so you ignore it. You sink into his explanation and turn back to your homework. 

But you can't ignore it for long. 

The more days pass without Doyoung, without his presence anywhere aside from the occasional flash of his black hair in the hallways, or his old blue car driving off campus, the more the doubt flows through your mind like a slow poison.

You become hyper aware of everything around you. Every jean jacket clad man on the sidewalk looks suspiciously like Joe, every study session sends you back into a space of silent observation. You watch Taeyong and Dahyun for any further hints of what might be happening, but they reveal nothing. They only slip back into easy camaraderie--laughing and joking as if Doyoung was still there with the three of you. 

The newspaper stand becomes a beacon of both fear and hope. You walk by it everyday, glancing sideways at the headlines as you pass, and your heart soars as the front cover returns to national news. The goings on in other areas of the country drown out any further mention of the terror that lives in your own small city. 

Terror proclaimed in a full page spread. RITUAL KILLINGS SPARK LOCAL FEAR. 

You recoil from the headline, hands curling into fists even as you stare down at the paper. 

"Awful, isn't it?" A voice tuts next to you, startling you out of your steady fixation. You turn to see the old librarian, bundled in her usual beige cardigan on the way to work. She plucks a paper off the stack and shakes her head. "I can't believe what this place is turning into?"

"Do you know what happened?"

"First the home invasions and now this? Awful," she shakes her head again in disgust before turning away and walking towards the library. You watch her go, mind swimming with possibility, before grabbing a copy for yourself and shuffling after her. 

_ The double homicide of Richard and Karen Carpenter, following a string of home invasions and burglaries over the winter, has shocked the community. Inside sources are reporting cult-like aspects to the murders, citing messages written in blood on the walls. Police have neither confirmed nor denied the potential involvement of cults in the murders, but say they are following all possible avenues to find the culprits.  _

Your breath comes out in short shallow gasps as you read, buried deep in the forgotten corners of the library. Black spots swim around the corners of your vision as the fear washes over you.  _ It’s ridiculous _ , you think. This murder has nothing to do with you, or with anyone you know, but still you can’t help but feel somewhat guilty over it. You can’t help but feel like maybe you are connected somehow. You sit in silent contemplation for the rest of your time in the library, missing your third class of the day, and try to connect the dots between your fears and anxieties and the news. 

Your room greets you in darkness as you stumble back in, exhaustion settled deep in your mind after hours of sinking into your anxieties. You can feel them thrumming through your limbs as you toss your bag onto the floor and reach your arm out the flick the light on. 

As soon as the room is illuminated, something feels wrong. 

Your anxiety is a buzz in the back of your mind as you look around, wide eyed and frantic. Everything in your room, everything you left at first glance seems like it’s been moved an inch to the left. Your reach down towards a pair of jeans on your floor and your fingers tingle with the innate knowledge of someone else having touched them recently. 

You drop the jeans and try to remember if you even unlocked your door. Was it locked at all? Flashes in your mind, images of people clad in black picking the lock and sneaking in--hands seeking, searching through your possessions. A chill crawls down your spine and you feel close to tears. Stumbling towards your nightstand, you extend a shaking hand and fumble around for the slip of paper with Taeyong’s number--praying that for once he’s safe in his dorm and not out at the farm. Praying that he might answer your call. 

The communal phone in the kitchen downstairs rings and rings to no avail. No one answers and the panic bursts inside of you in a flood of worst case scenarios. Where was he? Had they gotten into his dorm as well? Was he lying there in a pool of blood listening to the phone ring and ring on the wall while you stood there near tears? 

The air around you feels suffocating. Every corner of the dorm feels full to the brim with invaders--people you don’t know hidden in the shadows. Waiting. Blindly you stumble out through the front door and onto the sidewalk, inhaling fresh air in short, panicked gasps. You consider your options--the library, the dorm next door where you know no one and anyone could be the culprit, the dean’s house on the other side of the campus, campus security. 

All of these would be reasonable options--reasonable places to run for safety and peace of mind--but all you can think about is Taeyong. All you can think is that maybe if he were here, if he were to wrap you up in his arms and hold you close to his chest you would feel okay again. 

You start walking, unsure of which direction to head to get to his off-campus dorm. Did he take a bus? The only time you had ever seen it was that first night when you drove out to the farm in Doyoung’s car. The thought of Doyoung raises more alarm bells in your mind and you choose and direction and pick up your pace. The tears start running after a few minutes and you’re almost sprinting, eyes blinded by moisture, when you slam into someone. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Taeyong’s voice wraps around you, the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard, and you collapse into his arms and allow your panicked sobs to wrench free from your chest. He wraps his arms around you, supporting you as your body trembles in a strange mixture of panic and relief. “It’s alright,” he soothes, running a hand over your hair and tightening his grip. 

You stay like that, under the light of the streetlamps, for a few moments until your breathing begins to slow to normal. You pull back slightly, sniffling, “sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” he smiles, running a thumb across your cheek to wipe away the lingering tears, “you don’t have to be sorry. What happened?” 

“I think there was someone in my room,” you say under your breath, resisting the urge to wrap yourself back up in him. 

“What? When?” His eyes widen in alarm and he glances behind you as if the culprit might appear there--wrapped in darkness and mist. 

“I just got home from the library and--” you trail off, unsure of how to phrase the feeling of terror that had sunk into your bones. There was no real proof of it. Nothing save for the feeling of fear and the anxiety that had taken over you the moment you flicked on the lights. Taeyong keeps his eyes focused on you, waiting for you to elaborate but you suddenly feel ridiculous now in front of him. Maybe it had all been in your imagination.

“Do you want me to come back with you?” He asks, breaking through your thoughts and you feel like you might start crying again. Instead you nod, and he slips his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers as you walk back towards your dorm. 

You stand in the doorway, watching as Taeyong looks through your room--searching for any signs of forced entry or any lingering hints that someone other than you had been inside. Seeing the room again, the same sinking fear as before gnaws at you but you bite it back as Taeyong continues his search. 

“Is anything missing?” He asks and you shake your head. You didn’t have a lot, and it all appeared accounted for, but you still couldn’t shake the fear. Taeyong takes a step towards you, shaking his head, “I don’t see any signs of a break in at all but,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t really want to leave you alone here just in case.” 

“I’ll be okay,” you try and summon up a steady tone but can’t help the shaking fear that comes out. 

Taeyong frowns, taking your hand in his for the second time, “do you want me to stay?” You look down at where your hands meet--his fingers intertwined with yours. The fears wane slightly and you marvel again at how calm he makes you feel. How safe and at home. 

“Yes,” you breathe the answer after a moment--softly. Taeyong nods, shrugging off his jacket and settling into the armchair in the corner of your room. You gather your things to get changed in the communal washroom down the hall and when you return, you find him asleep on the chair--head turned to the side.

He looks serene in the midst of sleep. No trace of a frown or any strain marring his features and you smile at the sight. Something pulls you in closer, moving your feet towards him. Your hand twitches to reach out, to run your fingers through his hair and for once you give in to the urge. It’s smooth and fine under your touch, you watch as his chest rises and falls with each breath, the skin peeking out underneath the collar of his button up shirt. Your line of sight follows the patterns of his shirt until they come to rest on a dark spot near his neck. 

A spot of red disturbing the soft yellows and browns of his shirt. Blood. You pull your hand back in shock and Taeyong stirs awake at the sudden movement, “are you okay?” The question comes again, this time in response to your wide eyed stare and you open your mouth to speak, but can’t summon a word. 

He stands, and you take an instinctive step backwards that deepens the frown now etching his features. “What’s wrong?” 

“I--” you stutter, “where did that blood come from?” You finally muster the courage to ask, pointing a shaky finger at his neck and he raises a hand as if to wipe it away. 

“Oh, I cut myself earlier cooking,” his features soften with a quiet laugh--embarrassed. “Must have gotten some blood on my shirt without realizing.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” he laughs, holding his hand out towards you, “look.” You lean forward, eyes straining in the low light of your room until you see it. A small cut on the side of his palm--an odd place to be cut while cooking. “Do you want me to leave?” He asks and you balk. The worries are there, deeply imprinted after the roller coaster of emotions you had been riding all day--but this is Taeyong. Taeyong with the kind smile and kinder soul. The Taeyong you had been watching for months before becoming acquainted. The Taeyong who made your heart swell every time he smiled at you. 

The Taeyong you were madly in love with. 

It was an odd place to be cut while cooking, but you wanted to believe him--wanted him to stay--and so you did. 

“No,” you shake your head, offering a nervous laugh of your own. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little spooked, I guess.” 

“Hey, hey--it’s okay,” he says, placing his hands on your shoulders. “I’m here. You’re safe. I said I would be there for you if you needed it and I mean to be.” The air between you shifts, thickening, as he moves closer to you--inch by inch--eyes focused on yours for any hint of refusal. You give him none. All your fears, all your worries are washed away under his gaze. 

How long you’ve been dreaming of this moment. Of being in his arms, of feeling him near you. Maybe these weren’t the circumstances you have imagined, but that’s all shoved to the back of your mind as he leans forward and presses his lips against yours. Softly, slowly. Testing the waters. You feel fireworks burst behind your eyes as you lean into him, deepening the kiss. 

His arms wrap around you, holding you tight to his chest, and you sink further into him. All of your dreams, all of your deepest wishes and fantasies concocted in the middle of many sleepless nights have finally coalesced into this one moment. His lips taste like honey and you smile against him before he pulls away for air. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” He whispers, entangling your fingers between you and glancing at you under hooded eyes. You nod, speechless and he laughs--light and airy--before confessing, “I’ve been wanting to do that for months.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“I wasn’t sure you felt the same,” he gives you a wry smile and you have to keep yourself from laughing too hard at the statement. If only he knew just how much you thought about this exact moment. Instead you lean into him again, capturing his lips once more and feeling the last of your anxieties melt away as you both stumble towards your bed together. 

\--

‘NO SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL’ the headline reads as you walk past that same newspaper stand on campus that has been the bearer of so much bad news. This time, a front page spread on the continued investigation into the murder of the Carpenter family. You walk past it at first, attention drawn towards your exam that day, but the title lingers in your mind so you double back and pluck one off the pile. 

The headline may have caught your attention, but it’s the grainy black and white photo at the bottom of the article that draws you in. A face so familiar yet so foreign to you on the page, a man in denim with a beard just beginning to grow out at the time of the photo. You glance around, the sudden fear that Joe might be looming over your shoulder watching you, clenches your nerves. Newspaper in hand, you scuttle off towards your exam hall to escape the anxiety and find a place to read. 

_ Police have suspicions about a commune outside of town in connection to the brutal slayings of Karen and Richard Carpenter this past week. An inside source has stated that the markings in blood on the walls of their quiet suburban home allude to a cleansing of falsehood from society and align with the beliefs of the de facto leader, Joseph Wilson, 42.  _

_ Wilson has previously been incarcerated under suspicion of the slaying of his wife Sadie in 1962, but was cleared of all charges as no conclusive evidence could be found linking him to the murder. He has been a relative drifter since that case was cleared, and has only recently settled into the abandoned farm outside of town within the last year or two.  _

_ Local residents are concerned about the influence on the students at the University in town, as we have seen from other incidents across the country cults like this recruiting from that vulnerable population. Sources state… _

The article drags on, digging into the history of suspected cult murders in the country and ending with a plea for aid from the community and your mind lurches to catch up to the flood of information. The image of Joe, grainy in black and white on the cover of the newspaper, burns itself into your brain alongside the word ‘murder’. It bounces around, clattering and clashing with all that you’ve come to know about the man, and settles in the pit of your stomach. 

The exam starts and you try desperately to push the swirling thoughts from your brain and focus on the questions, but each time you get close they swim up again--intruders in your brain, setting up camp and making their home inside of you. By the time the exam is over, you’re both convinced that you failed it and dead-set on finding Taeyong as soon as possible--desperate for answers. 

After an hour combing the expansive campus, you don’t find him, but Doyoung’s shock of black hair gleaming in the spring sun catches your attention and you rush towards him. “Doyoung,” you call his name, voice frantic. He glances up, eyes widening for a moment an expression that, if you didn’t know any better, might have been fear. 

“Oh,” he says, relieved when he sees you come to a halt in front of him--shading his eyes with his hand, “hello.” 

“Did you see the article?” You ask, thrusting the, now slightly tattered, newspaper towards him. He frowns down at it, plucking it from your hands as if it might bite. 

“I did,” he nods. 

“Well?” 

“Well what?” 

“What do you think? Do you think it’s possible? Did he murder them?” The questions pour out of you in a flood of words and he just stares at you blankly for a moment processing it. 

“No,” he hums the word, as if he’s not entirely sure of it. “I don’t think he did it, but I can’t say that he’s not connected.” 

The statement does little to reassure you. “What do you mean?” You take a seat next to him on the bench, angling to face him despite the sun shining directly into your eyes. 

“You know why I left, right?” He asks, curious yet hesitant. 

“Not really,” you shake your head, “Dahyun just said you didn’t believe anymore.”

He looks relieved, face softening slightly at your answer and it pricks another bubble of curiosity inside of you, “good.” 

“Why  _ did _ you leave?” 

"I just," he pauses, sighing. "It wasn't what it used to be anymore." The answer does nothing to satisfy your curiosity and Doyoung can see the questions still burning in your eyes, "I can't tell you the details, I'm sorry, but you should keep your distance, too. It's not safe." He gathers his book bag and stands, blocking the sun and casting you in shadow for a moment. 

"Not safe?" You can't help but press for more information, the questions bouncing around inside of you are clamouring for clarity and Doyoung has so far only served to intensify it. "What about Taeyong?"

His face falls at the name of his friend, a twisting of pain in his expression, "Taeyong's not safe either," he sighs, "but he's in too deep now." With a shake of his head he turns to leave, walking a few feet before turning to wave goodbye, "take care of yourself." 

You want to chase after him, grab him by the sleeve of his sweater and force him to give you a concrete answer. Why is it not safe? How is Taeyong in too deep? Why did he really leave the group? You watch him walk away, playing the encounter out in your mind until he disappears around the corner of the sciences building. 

\--

You had been going back to the farm more steadily now that the weather was warmer--but only ever on Fridays.

They were the only days you felt safe to go. The charm and camaraderie that had lit up the place when you first arrived there months ago, arm in arm with Dahyun, had been washed away in shades of grey. Despite spring blossoming around you, the whole place felt dull. Dead. The people were less vibrant and friendly than they had been before. You weren’t sure if it was the lingering effects of the long winter, the toll of drugs and alcohol, or something deeper and more sinister--but it all felt wrong. 

A chill would crawl up your spine every time you stepped foot out of Taeyong’s car. You felt unwelcome, and interloper in a place that you once almost began to call home. The dissonance would push you closer into Taeyong’s side and you wouldn’t leave him until you were safely nestled back into the passenger seat of his Chevy. 

The article, and your subsequent conversation with Doyoung, take up space in your brain alongside the lifeless farm for the week leading up to Friday. You lay awake in bed, tossing and turning over his warning as you wrestle with your desire to head back to the farm--to see Taeyong again--or to heed Doyoung. The fear of what might be waiting for you out there, in the wake of the investigation, sends you into a spiral of anxiety and worry. 

The feelings are heightened by Taeyong's complete dismissal of anything. You bring the concerns to him each day, little by little broaching the topic in hopes that he responds in kind, but he simply brushes it off each time.

"It's fine," he says with a soft smile, smoothing your hair with the palm of his hand and pulling you into a gentle kiss. "I'm perfectly safe." 

His assurances only serve to heighten your anxieties. He's there with you, laying next to you at night, sitting near you in the library as you study, but his eyes are distant--almost vacant. He's next to you physically, but his mind is far away. It's back on the farm--thoughts entrenched in whatever activities out there you are not privy to. 

The anxiety is brought to a boil when Friday does roll around in the midst of a cool spring breeze. You sit stretched out in the far corner of the library, shielded by the medieval history section, and flip through your textbook as Taeyong plays mindlessly with the hem of your shirt. 

"Hey," he says, voice low to avoid the wrath of the librarians. You turn to him in question, eyebrows raised as he continues, "you have a few assignments to do this weekend right?"

"Yeah," you nod, "why?" 

"I was just thinking," he untangles his fingers from the fabric of your shirt, grasping your hand in his instead. You can feel him tremor slightly at your touch, "maybe instead of coming out with me and Dahyun again you should hang back and catch up." 

"Why?" The suggestion raises a red flag of alarm in your brain. Your thoughts start spiralling once more--a dark well of anxieties. 

Taeyong wraps his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your temple to soothe the edge in your tone, "I just know you've been stressed over school lately and there's nothing really going on at the farm this weekend." 

“What’s going on Taeyong?” Doyoung’s warning rings clear in your mind as Taeyong tries to dissuade you from what has become a weekly ritual for the past few months. You extricate yourself from his arms and turn to him, maintaining eye eye contact in an attempt to weed out the truth. 

He frowns, a slight pot twisting his lips, "there's nothing going on," he looks hurt, wounded, and you a small pang of guilt knots in your stomach. "Do you think I wouldn't tell you if there was something happening? I'm just looking out for you."

"No, I know," you say with a sigh, hoping to clear the sadness from his expression. You place a small, placating kiss to his lips, "I'm just worried about you with everything that's going on lately." 

"You don't need to be," he smiles. "I’m perfectly safe.” 

The reassurances do little for you but in the name of peace and comfort, you let him slide without further prodding. Sinking back into silence and simply enjoying his presence beside you--no longer a stranger pined after, now just Taeyong. Your Taeyong. Here and now, connected to you in heart and soul. 

The weekend breezes by in solitude. No word from Taeyong, though since the farm has both spotty electricity and no working telephone this was not a surprise. Despite knowing this, however, you hover around the common phone in the dorm, waiting for a ring that might sound a little different from the others. Maybe it would be higher in tone--the bells of the angels heralding his return to campus. Maybe it would be a lone drone; a sergeant on the other end relaying bad or worse news. 

Your homework remains unopened on your nightstand from Friday through Sunday, abandoned in preference of spending your time worrying. Flashes of news reports spring to mind--that same, grainy photo of Joe alongside a similar one of Taeyong. Each time it populates your nightmares it’s different. One minutes it’s a mass murder, the next a fire, the next they’ve simply fled the area and left no traces behind. In all of them you’re left here alone, picking up the pieces of your heart. 

Your waking mind tries to dispel these nightmares--tries to combat them with logic and reason but by the time the weekend ends and both Monday and Tuesday pass by with still no sign of Taeyong, your fears override any flimsy defense and you go searching for answers. 

“Doyoung,” you shout, spying his head bobbing across the street as he ducks out of the hardware store. He looks up, eyes wide and frantic, glancing around the street at the sound of his name like a startled deer. Anxiety buries itself deeper into your stomach at the sight. What was he so afraid of? 

After a moment of panic he sees you and heaves a sigh, jogging across the empty street towards you. 

“Hey,” you say as he comes to a stop on the sidewalk in front of you, “have you seen Taeyong around at all?”

His expression falls to a frown of concern, “no, isn’t he usually with you?” You nod, “I guess that’s why you’re asking me.” He answers his own question before drifting into his thoughts for a quiet moment, “when did you last see him?” 

“Friday morning,” you answer and his eyes widen in alarm. 

“You didn’t go out to the farm with them that night?” 

“No,” his concern sends the flags shooting back up in your mind, deepening the pit of dread in your stomach. 

“And you haven’t seen him since?” 

“No.”

“He’s probably still out there, then,” he says, glancing sideways down the street as if at any point Taeyong might appear around the corner. Might be standing there, wide smile shining in the sunshine, a box of donuts cradled in his arms. 

“Doyoung,” you say, pulling his attention back to you and locking eyes, “I have to know for sure.” 

“How?” 

“Could you come with me?” His face falls to a grimace at the question, fear and hesitation swirling in his dark brown eyes. You remember when you met him, and his surface level stoicism and bravado held you at an arm's length. You had been so afraid of him--of this boy who appeared so tough and cool--but now standing in front of him here in the middle of the desolate street, you can see that he’s just as afraid as you are. 

“I can’t go back there,” his voice comes out as a whisper, as if he’s afraid of being overheard. 

“Why not?” 

“It’s not safe for me,” he shakes his head. “You don’t understand, you were only ever on the periphery but what I saw, what I  _ did _ \--” He trails off into silence, words evading him. 

“Then can I borrow your car?” You don’t want to push him into revisiting somewhere he clearly didn’t want to go, but the fear and worry you felt for Taeyong was currently overriding your sense of self-preservation. 

“No,” he says, eyes wide. “Taeyong told me to look out for you, and letting you drive into that den of snakes doesn’t exactly fall in line with that.” 

“He told you to look out for me?” 

“In a brief moment of clarity,” he snorts, a wry smile twisting at the corners of his lips. 

“Doyoung,” you speak, latching on to the softness in his voice. “I  _ have _ to go.” 

“I know,” he sighs, resignation clear on his face. “I’m worried, too.” He casts a glance down the sparsely populated sidewalk once more, as if hoping Taeyong might appear at last and solve this dilemma, but no one appears so he beckons you to follow him towards his car. 

You slide into the passenger seat, watching as he inserts his key into the ignition and brings the engine to life, “are you sure about this?” 

“No,” he replies, staring dead ahead as he pulls the car out of it’s spot and turns onto the road. 

The same road you’ve driven hundreds of times passes by through the windows of Doyoung’s car like a stranger. The trees, the fields, the houses--they’re all unfamiliar and strange. You stare out the window in silence, watching it all pass by in a blur, and think about what might be waiting for you at the farm. A place you once felt you belonged now feeling like a distant threat looming on the horizon of your thoughts. 

The farm comes into view in shades of brown and rust. In your memory it was so much brighter here--the shingles weren’t nearly as weather-beaten, the house wasn't nearly as dilapidated. Looking at it now, you can’t imagine ever seeing it as it was in your memory. A beacon of freedom and hope shining under the sun in golden fields or winter snow. Now, it was simply lifeless. 

The usual buzz surrounding it was also nonexistent. You had expected, as you and Doyoung were driving up, to find everyone milling around as they used to. Either dancing to music playing out of someone’s tinny car speakers, or stoking another bonfire. Months ago there was always laughter in the air--always upbeat chatter. Now the only sign of life were the crows perched like omens on the roof. 

You clamber out of the passenger seat of the car, jumping at the sound of the car door as it slams shut and disturbs the eerie silence around you, and glance over at Doyoung, “where is everyone?” 

The same unsettled expression that you're sure you’re wearing is reflected on his face as he looks around, “I don’t know.” He crosses over to the other side of the car to join you, eyes never leaving the run-down house in front of you, “something’s not right.” 

The truth of his observation sinks into--deepening the fear that already sits as a stone in your stomach. Outside of the shelter of his car, the whole place feels even more deserted. Dead. Like a graveyard. You take a hesitant step forward but Doyoung stops you, “here.” He holds out his car keys towards you and you look at him in questioning, “if anything happens just get out of here. Drive and don’t look back.” 

“What do you think’s going to happen?” You ask, tucking the keys into your pocket. 

He shakes his head and starts walking towards the farmhouse, “I don’t know.” 

You trail behind him, heart thudding dull against your chest as you take slow, steady steps. Each one feeling more and more like a step towards the gallow’s pole. The fear of what you might find inside paints your thoughts in blood. In red death. You hold your breath and feel the threat of tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you watch Doyoung ascend the creaking steps towards the front door. 

He barely reaches a hand towards it before it bursts open. Dahyun stands in the entryway--bleary eyed and half-wild with a mixture of anger and grief. “You,” she screeches at Doyoung. “This is your fault.” 

Doyoung stumbles backwards down the steps, nearly barrelling into you, with his hands raised in defense, “Dahyun, what are you talking about?” 

“He left us,” she sobs, “and it’s your fault.” 

Confusion swirls in a thick miasma around you as you take a few stumbling steps back to avoid the confrontation brewing in front of you. 

“Dahyun,  _ who _ left?” Doyoung keeps his voice level, as calm as possible, but you can hear the tremor of fear hidden in it. It shakes at the edges of his words as he tries to calm her tirade. More heads begin to poke through the windows and doors of the house, all wearing a similarly angry or saddened expression--all glaring daggers at Doyoung as he stands like prey before them. 

“Joe,” she seethes his name, spits it at Doyoung as if it might poison him. As if it might drop him dead on the spot with the force of her rage. 

“Dahyun,” you hear him before you see him and your heart swells with a momentary joy.  _ Taeyong _ , it sings. You watch as he steps out of the house--eyes strained from what looks like days of sleeplessness, voice the same tone of golden honey you had come so accustomed to hearing in the late hours of the night, or the early mornings of the day. He was alive. “It’s Doyoung, he never would have--”

“How do you know, Tae?” She spits her venom at him now, whipping around to face him and watches as a snake coiled to strike as he steps around her and comes to Doyoung’s side. He hasn’t seen you yet. Or he has and he doesn’t want to draw attention to you in the wake of Dahyun’s ire. “How do you know he didn’t go to the police? How do you know he didn’t tip off the press like that? Remember,” she says, fixing them both with a dark glare, “he left us. He didn’t believe.” 

“Dahyun what are you--” Doyoung scrambles to gain footing as everyone begins to pool out of the house. They all stand behind or beside Dahyun--a wall of righteous anger propping her up in silent support. 

“He said we weren’t worthy anymore,” she cries, bitter tears streaking down her face, “that we didn’t believe.” She rubs at her face with the back of her hands before digging into the pockets of her baggy jacket, “but he was wrong.” Your eyes widen as you watch her anger ebb to a cold, steady fury. Taeyong stumbles back towards you, leaving Doyoung’s side and grabbing for your hand, “it was just you.” 

A shot rings out through the air and everything comes to a stop. You watch, frozen, as Doyoung’s lifeless body falls to the ground in a heap. Taeyong’s grip on your hand tightens and you stand in horror as blood starts to pool out from the wound in Doyoung’s head, soaking the earth with it’s red stain. 

No one speaks for what feels like an eternity--time stretches onward, shrouding the group in a tense silence. Panicked fear chokes you with the urge to run as far as your legs could take you yet still keeps you frozen in place--anchored by the feeling of Taeyong’s warm hand in yours, the only thing tethering you to reality. You can feel him trembling next to you. Whether from fear, from anger, or from sorrow you don’t know--you can’t force your eyes away from the boys lying dead on the ground a few feet away from you.

And then the screaming starts. 

At first from Dahyun as she stands, gripping the pistol between her hands still aiming towards the empty air where Doyoung had been standing before she shot him. She screams; a clear, high-pitched scream made of terror and disbelief--and rage, so much rage--breaking the silence with the force of the sound. A few more shrill voices join in to chorus with her, wrenched forward from the heaving chests of the people crowded around the body. 

You stand still, wide-eyed and mute, and just listen as their screams turn to sobs and dissolve finally into a sound that pierces you with horror more than the gunshot, more than the screaming. 

Laughter. 

In a daze you turn to Taeyong, tugging on his hand to pull his attention towards you, “we have to go.” You try to urge him to move, to run with you towards his car so that you can get back to the city--back to safety. 

“Go where?” He asks, eyes unfocused. He’s looking at you, but he’s not seeing you. It’s the same look you saw in his eyes that night you ran into him on campus--the same look that chilled you to your bones under the weight of his absence. He is standing in front of you, but he is not here. 

“Home, Taeyong,” you tug on his hand once more, whispering through gritted teeth as the people around you begin to move--spinning and reeling into each other in fits of laughter and tears.

“This is my home,” his voice is barely heard over the cacophony of noises and voices surrounding you. The din of mania drowning out his words and your thoughts. 

“ _ Please _ ,” you urge him, tugging on his hand once more, "I'm scared." The words come out shaking, pleading, and Taeyong finally finds himself again. Returning back to his body and looking at you in alarm.

"Doyoung," he breathes, sparing a glance over towards the body of his friend. 

You look back at Doyoung’s body, growing cold and forgotten on the ground, and force yourself to choke down the overwhelming swell of guilt that washes over you at the sight. “Taeyong,” you let go of his hand and cup his cheeks, forcing him to face you. “We have to get out of here,” his eyes are still dazed, unfocused and you start to wonder if it’s the effects of something more than just witnessing his friend being murdered in front of him. “We have to get out of here or we’re going to die. Do you want that?” 

His gaze sharpens, a slight focusing in his irises at the question, and he puts his hands over yours. “I don’t want you to die here,” he shakes his head and you lean forward to press a desperate kiss to his lips.

“Then we have to  _ go _ ."

A moment of clarity overtakes Taeyong and he nods, allowing you to tug him along towards Doyoung's car. You slide into the driver's seat and peel out over the gravel and dirt back towards the road. Taeyong sits in the passenger seat, blank faced and staring down at his hands like a man possessed. You glance through the rearview mirror in time to see the first glimpse of the fire wicking up the sides of the old house.

The screaming and laughter fades into the distance and you manage to make it to the highway, slowing the vehicle to a reasonable speed, before the first cop car appears in a blur of flashing lights--the red and blue blazing through the dark of the night. 

"Taeyong," you speak his name as you get into the city, his silence a further concern in the cab of the car. 

“Doyoung,” he whispers the name, bringing his hands to his face in horror or disbelief or both. You shove away the thoughts of Doyoung, lying dead on the ground in the light of the flames at the farm. How if you hadn’t convinced him to come with you, to take you out there in some mad attempt at saving someone who wasn’t ready to be saved, he might still be alive. He might be driving this car right now, heading back towards his family--towards safety. 

You shove the image of Dahyun standing over him with the gun aside. The image of everyone standing around screaming, faces cast over in a shroud of darkness and ecstasy. You shove it all aside, lock it in a small box in the back of your mind, and focus on the road as you come into the city. 

The lights of the campus pass by outside the windows as you pull Doyoung’s car to a stop outside of your dorm. The hum of the engine stops, plummeting you into silence and you turn to Taeyong as he sits still with his head in his hands, mumbling to himself under his breath. Some part of your rational mind says you should hide the car--take Taeyong upstairs to your room and come back down to ditch the vehicle a few blocks away. 

Somewhere where when the police come looking for it, as they inevitably will after finding Doyoung’s body, it won’t be connected to you. 

Another part of you--the part that’s afraid, the part that just wants to do the right thing, tells you that it doesn’t matter anyway. That they will find the connection between you regardless and come looking, so you might as well just call the police now. Confess to whatever small part you and Taeyong played in this and hope that they take some pity on you.

The rest of you is just tired. Yearning for the strong arms of sleep to encircle you and wash away the day. To banish the nightmares in the hope that when tomorrow morning comes, you will wake up in Taeyong’s arms and find that none of this had ever happened. 

You’ll see him smile at you again and everything will be as it was when the sun was still shining. 

For now, you lean over and take Taeyong’s hand in your own, circling the skin with your thumb and coaxing him out of his spiralling thoughts, “hey.” He looks up at you, brown eyes soft with confusion and a well of swirling emotions--fear, longing, regret. The sight tugs at your heart--a painful knot tightening around the organ--and you give his hand a gentle squeeze, “let’s get inside.” You try to offer him a reassuring smile as you clamber out of the car and wait for him to follow. 

The dormitory is quiet at this time of night. Everyone asleep in their respective rooms, no one aware of the horrors unfolding only miles away from their beds. The calm is disconcerting--a strange departure from the flames and blood you had just walked out of. It heightens the feeling that you might be able to simply sleep it off. If you sleep for long enough, you’ll wake up to an angry phone call from Doyoung asking just where the hell his car is. 

Or maybe you’ll wake up in the house on the farm with all the other bodies--wreathed in flame and destruction. 

You close the door to your room just in time to catch Taeyong as he collapses against you. You sink to the floor, arms wrapped tight around his shaking frame, as he leans against you. All of his confusion and sorrow breaking free in a wave of tear filled sobs. 

You want to say something--anything--to help quell the fears. Some platitude to soothe his sobbing and calm the nerves that are fraying at the edge of your mind, but words fail and nothing comes to mind. Instead you just hold him close, tight to your chest on the floor until the need for words passes. Until you both fade into silence and no sound but your breathing can be heard in the small space of your dorm room. 

The exhaustion in your bones finally makes itself known and you loosen your grip on Taeyong, stretching out your cramped legs and helping him to his feet along with you. He sits on the edge of your bed as you take a cloth and clean some of the blood and dirt from his face and hands, hoping the actions will quell your own shaking for a moment--give you something to focus on. 

The bed frame creaks under your weight as you slide into it next to Taeyong. You pull yourself tight against his back, curling around his body. No word has been spoken between you since you arrived at your dorm, neither of you wanting to broach the silence for fear that it makes everything too real. 

You lay together for a moment in continued silence until Taeyong speaks into the darkness, voice a mere whisper, "what do we do now?" He sounds so much like a child, helpless and afraid, as he lays in your arms. 

You smooth his hair down with a reassuring hand and place a small kiss behind his ear, at the nape of his neck, "sleep." You say, tightening your grip around his waist and he sinks back into you, "and then tomorrow we go to the police." Your eyelids droop, finally allowing sleep to overtake you--falling into silence again and not noticing the stiffening of his body against you at the words. 

Dawn filters in through your sheer curtains, stirring you awake with the kiss of it, and for one brief moment you breathe easily. Until you remember yesterday. Until the screams and blood floods back into your memories and reminds you. 

The bed beside you is empty, Taeyong is nowhere to be found as you swivel your head around in a dazed panic searching for him. Anxiety overwhelms you, tightening your chest in it’s vice grip as you scramble out of bed and look around for any signs of where he might have gone. 

Doyoung’s car keys are missing from the pocket of your jeans, hastily thrown in a pile on the carpet the night before, and the constriction in your heart tightens further. A flood of worst case scenarios crashes through your mind--images of Taeyong speeding down the highway towards the still burning flames of the farm, Taeyong in the back of a police car, Taeyong lying next to Doyoung in the cold, damp earth. 

The images swirl and dance through you in a dizzying fashion--blocking out all rational thought. You try to repel them, try to reason with them. 

_ ‘Maybe he just went home for a shower.’  _ The image of Taeyong, water running with the bright red of the blood pouring forward from the bullet wounds in his chest. 

_ ‘Maybe he went to phone the police,’  _ Taeyong stands with his wrists in cuffs, the cell door closing around him. 

_ ‘Maybe he just went to grab some food,’ _ Blood, Taeyong, blood, the grey pavement of the sidewalk. Blood. Taeyong. No matter what you try to counter your panicked mind with, nothing but images of him soaked in the red of his own blood comes to mind. Flashing images evoking more terror, doubling down on the fear still humming through your body from the night before.

You tug on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, scrambling for any tether of thought that might lead you towards Taeyong when the door to your room swings back open and he’s standing in front of you with two cups of coffee. 

You exhale the breath you had been holding in a rush and throw your arms around him, burying your head in his neck in a wave of relief, “oh, thank god.” He’s here. He’s here and he’s alive and he’s not bleeding. 

He laughs lightly in shock at your response, wrapping his arms around you in kind while also taking care not to spill the drinks clutched in his hands, "is everything okay?" He asks and the cheerful tone of his voice catches you off guard. 

"Yeah," you nod, pulling out of the embrace and surveying his expression. He smiles at you, a soft smile reminiscent of those days you spent watching him relaxing in the grass on campus underneath the warmth of the sun. It's a beautiful smile, it fills you with warmth and light despite the events you had just lived through. You shake off your concerns and simply bask in the presence of it for now, for as long as it lasts. "I'm fine," you return his smile and accept the proffered coffee. "Are you," you hesitate, the images of all that blood flooding back into the forefront of your mind for a fleeting moment, "are you okay?"

He nods, entwining his fingers with yours, and leads you towards the bed, "I think I have it all figured out," he says, tightening his grip on your hand as he speaks. His features retain a sense of peace--a conviction and happiness that you wouldn't have expected considering his catatonic state last night, but that makes you yearn and hope for the best. Maybe he does have a solution to everything. Maybe you can put it all behind you and move on. Together. 

"The police," you wonder out loud and his smile falters a bit. A dark cloud passing through an otherwise blue, sunny sky. 

"No," he shakes his head. "I can't. We can't go to the police."

"Why not?" Maybe you were naive. Maybe all your time spent in relative safety and comfort in your family home growing up had made you innocent and unaware. No crime had ever touched your life--no violence or death--before now. Maybe you were naive, but it seemed to you as though the police could sort everything out. You would tell them your story, and since you weren't lying they would accept it and with your help move on to apprehend the people who were at the head of this snake. 

Taeyongs expression tells you otherwise. "I can't," he says again, "they'll take you away from me.” 

"What? Why?" More dark clouds--obscuring the sunshine that had been lulling you into a sense of calm. Anxiety creeps up again as he grows more tense. 

"I've done things," he says and your confusion grows at the cryptic words. "Bad things."

"What sorts of things?" You don't want to hear the answer. You don't even want to ask, but you can't help yourself. Curiosity propels you forward. Pushing you past the desire to return to that space of calm and sunshine. 

You have to know the truth. An answer to your months of questions. Articles and news reports flash through your mind in black and white--home invasions, murder, cults. You have to know. 

He shakes his head, tightening his grip on your hand for a moment before taking a sip of his coffee. You follow suit, grimacing at the bitterness of the liquid and briefly wishing you had some sugar to mask it. "I can't tell you," he turns to face you, brown eyes wide and pleading, "but I know how to fix it."

"How?" You want to believe him. You want to sink into his wide eyes and let him fix everything. You could run away--climb into his car and just drive. Maybe to the coast, maybe to the forest. Somewhere far away from here. Far away from the murders, far away from Dahyun, far away from Doyoung.The bitterness of the coffee lingers in your throat and you take another sip to try and wash it down. 

“We’ll be together forever,” he smiles, and leans towards you. The same bitter taste of your coffee is there on his lips as you meet the kiss. Your heart races in your chest, reminding you of that first kiss you shared. How the mixture of nerves and excitement had sent your heart reeling against your ribcage. 

That same, dizzying feeling--of love, of desire, of hope--swells through you now again. But this time it doesn't wane even as Taeyong pulls away from you, even when he lifts your hand to his chest so you can feel his own racing heart. Your heartbeat picks up pace--faster and faster until it's almost choking you with the speed. 

"Taeyong," you choke out his name past the bile rising in your throat--panic begins to set in and he grabs your hands, rubbing soothing circles over your skin as he pulls you to lay down with him. 

"You and me," he says, voice hoarse with love or something else, "forever." 

Your breathing grows more laboured, eyes wide in fear as Taeyong holds you tight. He chokes out your name, one last time. His last "I love you," leaves his lips even as your eyesight blurs. 

The last thing you see as the life drains from your body is Taeyong’s sunshine smile as he lays next to you--cold and lifeless. 


End file.
